Smoke on The Mountain
by TryingToFindTime
Summary: When a young girl loses her home to a band of mysterious hooded riders, she is forced out of the mountains and into the prairie to start a new life. Timid though she is, revenge boils in her blood. Can she survive in the unforgiving world of the west? Humanized. Western Fic, because why not?
1. Prologue

**Hello! Welcome to the Western Genre section. You're safe here.**

**Ever notice that the Western Genre tab on FanFiction in a bit under used? Why is that? Is imagining your favorite character in a ten gallon hat just taboo on the internets? Anyway, get ready for a hardcore Western adventure! With horses, and guns, and horses and trains, and horses, and…. horses. **

** Shut up. I don't have a problem. **

**In this story, the characters are humanized, and will have more human-ish names, if only because I find it easier to write that way.**

**Flaky: Fable | Toothy: Tom | Flippy: Philip | Cuddles: Christopher | Nutty: Nickolas **

**Giggles: Ginger | Petunia: Patricia | Handy: Harrison | Pop&Cub: Sheriff Ford and his son; Cody**

**Lammy: Lenora | Sniffles: Samson | Splendid: Stan | Mole: Monroe | Lumpy: Lambert **

**Disco Bear: Daniel | Lifty&Shifty: Lennon and Smoke, (Code names)**

**Keep in mind, this is the Wild West, so the mannerisms of the characters might be slightly different from usual. Anywho, here we go!**

The town of Donner Pass was in turmoil.

Citizens screamed in horror at the sight of hooded riders barreling down the streets, setting buildings alight as they went. Gunshots roared and bullets hailed downwards upon fleeing families. Men, women, and children were shot stone dead or wounded, riddled with holes and bleeding.

The riders paid no heed to animals in their path, and chickens and small dogs were trampled as a result of their lust for trouble. Mothers scrambled to drag their sons and daughters away from the hail of gunfire and sprinting horses, but it was too late for many and the riders pushed on. Fire blazed and hazy smoke covered the night sky as they continued their onslaught.

In the midst of all of this trouble, a young girl with crimson locks of hair struggled wildly to free a horse from his jammed stall. The stallion whinnied as fire slowly began to engulf the tiny stable and he tugged franticly on his halter. The girl clutched his lead rope to her chest tightly as she struggled with the latch. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a section of the roof above her collapsed and fell to the stall below, sizzling and hot.

The horse panicked, kicking up downy bedding and sparks in a fit of terror. The girl pulled back on his lead, attacking the stall door again with trembling, nervous hands.

"Why… won't…. it… budge?"

She could faintly hear the whooping and hollering of the riders outside, no doubt on their way to torch what was left of their hiding place.

The girl threw herself at the door, pushing and prodding at the latch in anger and fear. The horse reared several times, wildly tugging on his halter as the flames crept closer.

She somehow managed to force the door open just as the roof started to cave in above them. The girl barely was able to keep up with the horse as he shot forward, pulling at the lead rope and dragging her out of the stable, which was now engulfed with fire.

Once out of the stable, the horse slowed slightly, allowing the girl to regain control. This didn't last very long, however, because their escape path was soon cut off by two of the riders, faces hidden and guns blazing.

The girl's only chance was to run back inside the stable and leave through the other side. The horse, however, was having none of it. He struggled against the girl, rearing and resisting his lead as she tried to pull him back inside.

Help came from an unlikely source. Gunfire from the riders behind them sounded and they were both nearly shot. The bullets came so close to the girl that she could feel the heat from the metal as they almost grazed her shoulder and the horse's flank.

This new terror spooked the horse, and the girl was able to lead him back into the now collapsing stable, the two hooded riders behind them in hot pursuit.

Passing the horse's stall, she made a clicking sound with her teeth and brought the horse to a jog, nose pointed to the exit. The riders paused in the stable midway as the ceiling above them caved in completely, spurring them to turn tail at the sting of the burning wood.

The riders were nearly buried under the wood just as the girl and her horse escaped through the other end of the stable. She gathered the lead together and examined her surroundings fearfully.

The streets were filled with fleeing pedestrians and animals, and the air around them was thick and heavy with soot. Horse and handler fought their way through the black smoke as more of the damned riders clawed their way up the road towards them.

"Fable!"

The girl turned abruptly at the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. She saw her withered grandfather through the blanket of smog, a long rifle clutched in his bony fingers. His eyes watered and his mouth curled into a frustrated snarl. "Why are you still here? They're coming!"

The old man brought his fist to his mouth as a string of violent coughs erupted. He fought them back as he warned her again, choking on his words. "They're… comin'…" He coughed harder. "You gotta get gone!" He fell to his knees.

Fable ran to her grandfather's side, "I can't! I can't leave you here!" She buried her face into his shoulder as her eyes welled up with tears. "I won't leave without you…"

"Fable, I'm old. I've lived my life." He croaked, the coughs subsiding. "You can still make it if you leave now." He clasped her narrow shoulders tightly. "The others and I won't make it on foot. I would only slow you down, hon."

She only shook her head in disbelief. She didn't want to leave town, knowing that everyone she knew would fall prey to those menacing bandits. "I won't leave without you!" she sobbed.

The riders were closing in on them. People continued to run through the streets in an effort to escape, but their fates had already been decided. Fable's grandfather stared out at them with fiery, determined eyes. His fate had been decided as well, and he would burn, his legacy dying out with the rest of the town. He clenched his bony fingers into a fist. His storybook ending was written in stone.

_'But not Fable's.'_

With the last of his great strength, he stood up and lifted the young girl into his arms. She struggled slightly, tears falling to the ground. "Let go grand dad, let go!"

He strode over to the stallion and plopped her down in the small of his back. Fable could ride bareback, so it would turn out all right.

Fable protested, "I'm not going! I'm not leaving the one who raised me to die!"

The sound of hooves came closer as the riders plowed through the streets, slaughtering the innocent as they rode on. The old man would be damned if he let Fable die here.

"Ride!" He bellowed, "Ride!" With that, he smacked the horse on the rump, and Fable was off, whether she wanted it or not.

"Grand dad!"

Habit won out over will as Fable's heels went down, her seat tucking down into the small of the horse's back. As she rode to the outskirts of town, she made a horrible mistake. Fable turned around to see her grandfather, rifle cocked at the hooded riders, who were closing in fast on him.

What happened next would haunt Fable for the rest of her life.

One of the riders loped out of the shadows on the old man's left, swinging a club this way and that. With a single swift blow to the head, Fable watched as her grandfather was thrown to the ground, and trampled under the hooves of the riders, motionless and red.

Fable choked on her tears as the stallion pushed on underneath her. She pressed herself into the horse's neck, bravely fighting back waves of tears as she rode out of the smoky blanket, and into the blue blackness of the night.

**A bit melodramatic, but hopefully someone enjoyed this. **

**I'm really in no position to be starting another story, but White Stockings won't be updated in a while, and I really needed to finish this prologue, as tiny as it is. **

**Any feedback is good feedback! :)**


	2. Upon a Ridge She Rested

**Goodness glory, I knew I was forgetting something!**

**Russell: Shall remain Russell because I like it. | Mime: Miguel **

**- I can't believe I forgot two of the tree friends, LOL what good am I? **

**I might add Ka-Pow characters later, if only for a cameo. **

* * *

Fable plowed through the brush astride the stallion at a steady jog. She kept her head low, occasionally watching the hillside with an errant set of ruby eyes, silently watching for small creatures that scuttled in the dirt.

She didn't make any noise. She had stopped crying now, but her face was still puffy and her skin was crimson from the constant sobbing. Methodically and unconsciously, Fable rode down the mountain side; ever so slowly drifting away from the only home she had ever known: The remote, yet somehow accessible mining town of Donner Pass. Well, what was left of it, anyway.

Fable began to tear up as pleasant memories from her youth resurfaced. She remembered her grandfather's Inn; the only Inn that the town had. She smiled at the visions of bright, early mornings as seen from her bedroom window. The mornings began with a chilly, barefooted walk down the hardwood hallway, the scent of black, strong coffee growing sweeter and sweeter with the adding of milk, and the aromatic smell of bacon wafting down the hall as it sizzled on the wood stove.

She remembered the sternness and warmth of her grandfather, particularly whenever she tried to snatch molten, undercooked bacon from the breakfast table, or try her luck at raiding the peppermint jar in the tiny lobby when she thought nobody was looking. Her grandfather had been the one who had raised her from the time she was a baby, taking on the responsibility of fatherhood when no one else in the family could, (and at the ripe age of 54, mind you.) He had taught Fable the ins and outs of working the Inn, often taking over command of the staff when he was not present. He was a courageous old coot, and more loving to Fable than any mother would have been.

And now he was gone forever.

Fresh tears stained the sides of Fable's face as she tucked down into her seat, the horse finally stopping from lack of direction. Fable wiped the tears from her eyes and patted the horse on the shoulder. "Easy boy." She comforted her companion, and by extension, herself. Using a nearby tree stump for leverage, she dismounted and led him to a patch of damp, green grass, where he almost immediately began grazing.

Fable watched her friend tuck in and sighed, memories once again flooding her mind. Ever since she was ten, Fable had cared for this horse. She had groomed him, fed him, and raised him as a colt, and now, four years later, the two were as close as salt and pepper. Her grandfather had never had him registered, but she had insisted on naming him Windwalker anyway.

Windwalker was a short, stocky Palomino with pale, browless eyes. He watched Fable now carefully while simultaneously grinding a mouthful of grass. An oblivious, yet well intentioned gleam appeared in his eyes as he watched her despair quietly. What else was a horse to do?

Fable cringed at the memory of the sheer terror of last night. The flames lapping up at the buildings of her childhood, her poor grandfather lying face down in the dust…

The strange hooded riders.

Fable clenched her fingers into a fist, tearing up clover and grass by the roots. Her lips curled into a snarl as hot, angry tears slid down her face. She didn't understand why someone would do such a terrible thing to innocent people. Fable remembered the screams of fear and agony from the fleeing families. How men took a last stand with a savage cry of rage. How children wept for their fallen mothers right before their own lives were taken.

"I don't want to remember anymore!" Fable tore at her hair, her head bowed between her knees as if to hide from the feeling of loss. She looked out over the ridge that she rested upon, trying desperately to forget her fears in the vast expanse of prairie in the distance. She had just noticed that it was early morning, and that she had been riding all night long to escape from death.

Death.

Fable pondered the word. What had once felt like it was a lifetime away seemed closer than ever. She had witnessed it, almost fell prey to it. But death was promising, in its own way. It was a steady river, a natural course in life. The only question was when you ended up being swept away by the tide.

That, or you took the plunge yourself.

But Fable, miserable though she was now, wanted to live. She did not dance on the boundary between suicide and a healthy mind. The promise of one thing, and one thing only kept her out of a state of self-destruction:

Vengeance. It consumed her, and she could not think better of it. She did not allow herself to think rationally, for she couldn't afford it. The river of death was always waiting, always inviting. Fable did not question her feelings, for she had felt that it was justified; the cruel claws of fate had taken everything from her in the blink of an eye. Had she not been robbed of her innocence? Did she not deserve to compensate herself? Any person would want to take action to right such wrongs.

And Fable wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. But could she take it?

Fable pondered revenge with a queasy stomach. The idea of it comforted her, but she thought ill of doing others harm. Never in her life had she ever committed a crime against anyone. She had never even stepped on insects in her youth; how could she bring herself to end another human life? And for that matter, whose life would she even be taking?

Fable had no idea where those hooded riders had even come from. Their faces had been hidden by cloaks and their horses had been unbranded, so there had been no way to tell who they were and why they had come here in the first place.

Fable's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of earth shifting below her. She peered over the ridge, a feeling of fearful nausea sweeping over her.

_'Speak of the devil…'_

Just below her, a pair of maroon cloaks was making their way up the hillside, leading their horses by their bridles. Fable realized with a start that they had been out on the trail looking for her.

And they were heading this way!

Luckily, it appeared that they had not noticed Fable yet, for their eyes had been hidden under their own hoods. Fable slowly crawled away from the ridge as not to attract attention. She gathered up Windwalker's lead rope and tried to pull him away from his breakfast.

Stallions, (gorgeous though they are), are unfortunately not very cooperative, and he resisted Fable's frantic tugging.

"Windwalker!" Fable said in a hushed whisper, "Now isn't the time for this!" and she grasped hold of the horse's halter, straining urgently against the stubborn animal.

With an indignant snort, Windwalker came away from the grass (but not before pulling up a rather large weed with him, soiled roots and all).

They hid themselves behind a nearby thicket just as the riders had come up the ridge. Fable watched the pair slowly pass them in silent fright. Upon closer inspection, she came across a revolting discovery:

Their trademark cloaks where not maroon, but instead they appeared to be some shade of black. Fable soon realized that they were splattered from hood to toe in a dry, brittle layer of blood. Her hands snaked themselves around her waist. She felt dizzy and nauseous again, and she feared that she might even vomit if they didn't leave soon. It came and went as the murderous riders disappeared from sight and sound.

Fable counted her blessings from the safety of the thicket. Those two could have easily spotted Windwalker's tracks and scouted the area for her, but they must have been too absorbed with each other to notice.

Mounting her horse, she looked over the ridge again, and into the vast expanse of plain that lay just beyond the hillside. Fable looked over her shoulder at the mountain top, her eyes resting upon the pass that connected two different lands… her home.

Fable shook her head to clear the thoughts away. That life was over now. There was nothing left for her in the mountains, only the promise of death, it's winding river curling around her toes, only to disappear again, as quiet as a whisper, and as faint as a memory.

Fable wouldn't wait around to die. Revenge or no revenge, she felt a primordial impulse to stay alive another day. With apprehension, she slowly started down the rocky ridge, and into the measureless spread of the frontier.

* * *

**Well, that's Chapter One! **

**In case anyone was wondering, the horse's name is a reference to the 1981 Western film ****Windwalker. **

**Hope you enjoyed! Any feedback is good feedback! :) **


	3. Meanwhile

**Hello! Back again with another update. **

**I can honestly say that I'm really happy with this chapter. I focused very hard on trying not to rush it, because I know that I have a habit of doing that. Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

Mr. Harrison was a man of two emotions: With his hat on, and without it.

He may have been sympathetic, perhaps even friendly in many situations that called for it, but when it came to his workplace, (which just so happened to be the wide open spaces of the American frontier), he was more than prepared to buck up and get down to business. Being the trail boss of nearly two thousand four hundred and fifty head of cattle, his work was rarely finished, which meant that he carried a serious and stoic expression most everywhere he went. Today was turning out to be just another one of these days on the drive so far.

Harrison rode purposely ahead of his partners, leading the huge waves of cattle methodically forward. He looked behind him, thought for a moment, and then carefully pulled back on his reins, slowing down and tightening the herd by a yard or so. It had been a productive morning prior to the afternoon heat setting in, and Harrison, along with the other hired hands, were looking forward to bedding down the herd for a cup of coffee and a few winks.

There were six other hands with him, four of whom were young boys of various ages, the oldest being sixteen and the youngest no more than thirteen. The eldest boy there was a mischievous blonde named Christopher, whom at the moment was riding the right flank of the herd.

Tom was a ways younger than Christopher, but had already preceded him in height. He was just as mischievous, if not more so, only Tom held the advantage of looking innocent; with wide eyes, a heavily freckled face, and a pair of buck teeth that he cared little to hide around his partners.

Nickolas was a malingerer in many circumstances, yet held some degree of work ethic when it came to the cattle drive. One of his many weaknesses involved a particularly unquenchable thirst for sweets that never went unnoticed, even to outsiders. Flakes of sugary treats often found themselves caught between locks of his spring green hair, and combined with a rough complexion and a single, disconcerting lazy eye; Nickolas was a near hysterical sight.

The fourth and final boy was the runt of the litter; Miguel. He was a pasty-skinned, very reserved young lad who spoke little and preferred to keep to himself. With outsiders, he never spoke at all.

The rest of Harrison's hired riders were in their mid-twenties, and had had plenty of experience with herding. Lambert had dumb eyes but an honest grin and he always rode decently, despite the fact that he wasn't very bright. The wrangler for the outfit was a sharp-shooting, barrel-racing, all hat and no substance showoff named Stan. In spite of this, he was fairly easy to get along with, because he was smart enough to know when enough was enough. That was more than one could say for the younger drovers that made up the majority, and Harrison liked him for that.

Trailing closely behind the precession of cattle, a small wagon drawn by a pair of mules carried all of the supplies that the drovers needed on the journey; captained by a stocky, much older man who went by Monroe. He was plum loco, stubborn and nearly blind, but he was a kind man, and the best cook in the state of Texas. The wagon belonged to him, and he had spared no expense in festooning the insides with pots, pans, coffee mugs and other tools of his trade.

Now they were marching onward as they always did, a parade of cattle kicking up a black blizzard as they went along; the cowboys weaving them to and fro across the countryside. It had only been a few days since the drive had left El Paso, but Harrison was still eager to keep watch for shortcuts. When the time came midday for everyone to rotate positions, Harrison had kept point with Nickolas riding parallel. Harrison called him over with the map for counseling.

"I've got a job for you Nick. See that pass on the map there?" Harrison pointed to a spot on the map after pausing with Nickolas a few yards away from the herd.

Nickolas took the map from him and examined it. "Is that a pass? I thought it was a smudge." He laughed aloud, obviously pleased with the point he had made.

"Yes Nickolas, it's a tight squeeze, I get it, now listen up. Somewhere a ways up the mountain there should be a trail that leads to a little town in the middle of the pass."

"You mean people live up there?" Nickolas gesticulated towards the mountain peak on the horizon.

"Yes," Harrison said, "if memory serves me correctly, I think it was called Donner Pass. Now listen, this is important. I need you to ride ahead of the others and up the mountainside-"

"_All _the way?" The boy whined.

"Just until you find the trail. That shouldn't be so hard, should it?" Nickolas shook his head. Harrison continued. "Now, a town that high up should be-"

"Creepy? Inbred?" He asked, smirking.

Harrison frowned, unpleased to have been interrupted again. "Nickolas, would you button your lip for once and just listen? A town that high up otta be narrow, so you'll have to find someone to tell you how wide the streets are so we're prepared. Do you think you can handle that? Or do I have to send Stan?"

"Nah, I'm goin'." Nickolas grumbled as he rode off.

Stan rode back down from his scouting assignment just in time to watch Nickolas ride off; growling and muttering under his breath as he did so. He rode to Harrison to inquire.

"Well," He said panting, "Someone's sour."

"Nickolas is just a little sore from the scolding I gave him."

Stan shook his head. "Knowing him, he probably brought it on himself," he ran a hand through his navy hair and sighed, "Should I ride up with him?"

Harrison grunted slowly and shook his head. "Don't bother; it'll be good for him. The boy needs to learn some self-reliance."

Stan's face grew incredulous. "Since when did you ever care about teaching self-reliance?"

Harrison smiled jokingly. "Since I became the wet-nurse of four boys."

Stan grinned and chuckled. "Is that what you are now? A wet-nurse and not a trail boss?"

"That's all a trail boss is when you really think about it." Harrison shrugged his shoulders.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Harrison scratched behind his head and thought for a moment. "Well," he began, "a normal drive unlike this one'll take in grown men for hire. In theory, that ought to make them easier to manage. But come time when they reach town, what with the long hours away and the gambling, and the whiskey…"

"I see what you mean now."

"Yeah," Harrison stopped scratching. "Now the only difference is that I have to focus on turning them into an outfit; not keepin' them out of trouble."

Stan pondered his words as he watched the boys inch the cattle forward. "Have you ever thought that they might not be able to handle it?" he asked, turning to his boss, "Not that I've ever doubted you." Stan's gaze accidently rested on Harrison's arms and he averted it swiftly. Harrison didn't seem to notice.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat, Stan," he allowed his eyes to grow errant for a moment before they settled on the receding form of Nickolas. "I've never asked them to like their work, just that they do it without bellyaching."

"Well, kids'll do that."

"That's true. Then again, I've always liked having a challenge."

Harrison pointed out the base of the mountain to Stan. "If I asked you to round up the boys and get the cattle moving towards the mountain now, what would you say?"

Stan grinned. "I'd say, 'Yes, mam!'"

Harrison took off Stan's hat and swatted him away with it. "Hurry up then, do as your wet-nurse commands."

Stan rode off towards the herd, a cheeky grin still plastered on his face. Circling the now stationary cattle, he called out to the hands, who were waiting nearby.

"Up we go ladies, we've got over two thousand head to move!"

* * *

Fable hadn't realized just how exhausted she had become until she reached the base of the mountain. It had been trying enough for her to scale the rest of the mountainside without two nights' worth of sleep, but avoiding the hooded patrols that occasionally crossed her path had further exasperated her. She squinted and raised one tiny wrist to her face in an attempt to block out the rays of the afternoon sun. She wished she had her Sunday bonnet with her, but it had also been lost in the attack.

In fact, Fable had only managed to escape with Windwalker and the clothing on her back; a pair of baggy men's overalls, (Slightly torn from constant use) a pale yellow undershirt, and her tattered work boots, (which barely fit her to begin with). She hadn't been dressed warmly at all, but it was early spring and a blistering hot day, so Fable was thankful for what she had.

Fable wanted more than anything to sleep, but she couldn't risk being found by any riders that were still searching for her. She decided that it would be best to keep going until she reached an outpost of some kind, or a town.

_'Then we can find help.'_ She stroked Windwalker's neck thoughtfully as she rode into unfamiliar countryside. Despite Fables' hopefulness, her resolve was beginning to grow faint from her thirst and lack of energy. She focused the best that she could on the new world that was slowly taking shape before her.

It was like something out of an art gallery to Fable. The rocky overhang slowly gave way to scrub as she went on, and the prairie appeared, as flat as a canvas. Living in the mountains had given her some appreciation for landscape, and the girl could not help but be somewhat disappointed. She allowed her eyes to wander over the pale yellow vastness for a long time, her eyes straining under the heat.

Lizards scurried about, looking for food as they darted in and out of holes in the dry soil. Insects buzzed around poor Windwalker as he trudged onward. He swished his tail and rattled his ears to deter them, but it did little good. Fable used this time to reflect on her preconceived notions of the frontier. People from Donner Pass loved the gossip that came from the West; as such excitement was difficult to come by in a remote mountain town. Any newcomers felt welcome to brag openly about the amount of men they gunned down, or of the natural wonders that came with being a vagabond cowboy.

Because of this, Fable had originally painted the West as thrilling and romantic. But as she rode on through the blank, monotonous desert that surrounded her, she was starting to have second opinions. To make matters worse, she was functioning on little more than the will to keep going, having gone for nearly two days without sleep, food, or even a drop of water. Fable became distraught with anxiety and the sheer drowsiness that came from such aimless wandering.

More than once, she paused to allow Windwalker to catch his breath and she rested as well, fighting to keep her eyes open. Her mouth became dry, partially from change in altitude and also from dehydration. As Windwalker started up again for the second time, it was apparent that Fable was reaching her limit. Her arms and legs dangled loosely from the horse's sides, and she leaned softly against his neck, no longer resisting the urge to pass out.

Windwalker made the mistake of stepping into a shallow gopher hole and jerked backwards, startled. That was all it took for Fable to bite the dust. She landed in the dry, sunbaked earth with a painful thud, regained consciousness for a moment, and then lay still, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.

After hastily fishing his front leg out of the hole, the stallion turned on his hunches and lowered his head, snuffling Fable's scalp as she baked in the orange glow of the sun. Windwalker could not catch the scent of death, so he remained by her side for a few minutes before he began to graze nearby. Cocking one ear in her direction, Windwalker waited patiently for any signs of life on the horizon.

He didn't have to wait for very long.

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**In this story, Handy, (Harrison) still has his hands, but they've been mutilated and heavily bandaged. It's a less common variation, but it's not unheard of. Good enough for me.**

**Any feedback is good feedback! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE**

**Hey everyone. It's been quite a while since I last updated anything, but I have been super busy with several different projects and finals and just life in general. Of all the stories I have up, this one is the least of my worries, I know, but when you need to write you need to write, right?**

**Shoot me. I enjoy puns.**

**Anyways, this chapter is a bit short, but I just wanted people to know I was alive, haha.**

**Enjoy! :)**

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Harrison stared down at his arms with contempt as he pushed up the stragglers into the bulk of the herd. They had been liberally bandaged; starting from his knuckles and ending at the crook of his elbows. From the constant toil in the heat, the wrappings had been generously polished with dust and stretched out to the point of uselessness. Harrison had no mind to change them now; for he was not injured, but ashamed.

Under the wrappings there lay evidence of another world that Harrison had left behind. Years later, he still bared the scars of a life that wasn't worth living. It had been a life of trail blazing; one that had stunk of spilled blood. There was a time when his face had been watching Texas from about a thousand wanted posters. Harrison eventually woke up one day and tried to walk away from it, like it had been nothing but a bad dream. It was never that easy.

He had served his time, and even managed to make a decent living on construction work for a while. In no time at all, however, Harrison's checkered past had caught up with him, and he lost his job. Harrison growled, trying to push the memories away. That part of him was gone now. He had done well for himself, made something of himself.

He looked up from his arms to witness the drovers as they moved the cattle along. There were two thousand four hundred and fifty head that he meant to move. They weren't his; other ranchers had tossed in their stock to get their share of the beef boom. Those other ranchers were counting on Harrison to deliver their brand to a railroad station in Denver for their cut. What was their cause for trusting Harrison? To his everlasting rejoice it was good faith, something that Harrison thought he would never receive again from good people. In a way, that made this cattle drive more than pay; it was his final chance for redemption.

His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted Nickolas riding hell-for-leather toward him.

'_What's he doing back? He shouldn't be back from the ride this soon.'_

Nickolas halted in front of him and panted his explanation incoherently.

"Relax, Nick." Harrison said. "Now tell me what's going on."

Nickolas huffed a bit before answering. "There's trouble, Mr. Harrison. I think you need to take a look."

"Trouble?" Harrison asked, puzzled. "What sort of trouble?"

"There's no time to explain, but you'd better come quick!"

* * *

When the two cleared through the brush they paused to scan the flat below them. Harrison noticed tracks that were deep and well pronounced in the soil. They stretched on from the flat to a grove of trees not too far away.

"She was here just a moment ago." Nickolas said, puzzled.

Harrison raised an eyebrow. "She?"

Nickolas rubbed the sweat from his eyes and sighed. "There was a girl here, belly-down in the sun. I tried to get her to drink, but she wouldn't let me. She kept moaning and wiggling, like she was having a nightmare or something. She wouldn't even let me move her."

Harrison frowned at this sudden turn of events. He had been expecting some trivial problem to pop up when the boy had called for his attention, but instead he had another life to worry about. "You'd better not be playing some stupid joke on me, Nick." Harrison said, his tone growing deathly serious.

Nickolas seemed genuinely hurt and scowled at his trail boss. "It isn't a joke! I swear she was here!"

Harrison was still skeptical. "And just what is a girl doing wondering around out here?"

"How should I know?" Nickolas replied, shrugging.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me, Nick? You've done crap like this before."

"I ain't lying!" Nickolas glared daggers at Harrison, no longer worried about getting into any trouble. He jabbed a long finger in the direction of the grove. "And the longer we argue, the less time she has!"

Harrison was surprised and, oddly enough, proud of Nickolas for being so stiff with him. The man couldn't deny that the boy had brass. He resisted the urge to smile as he came to terms with the fact that the life of a child was on the line. Despite the boy's confidence, Harrison still found the idea of a little girl alone in the middle of the trail highly unlikely.

"Well," he began, avoiding Nickolas's glare, "whoever this kid is, she must have had the strength to drag herself into the shade. I guess we'd better look for her in those trees."

With that, Harrison started down the flat, Nickolas following suit. Before long, they spotted a figure curled up in the thin shadow of a tree.

"Must be starved for rest." Harrison said thoughtfully. As the two dismounted, Nickolas took note of the intense redness of the girl's face.

"Could it be from the heat?" The boy asked.

The trail boss bent down to examine her. "Sunburn, maybe. It looks to me like it's been agitated, though."

"Maybe she was crying?"

"Could be. I can't even begin to imagine what a little girl is doin' out here. She must be lost and terrified."

"Maybe she's one of the rancher's daughters."

Harrison shook his head. "No ranchers nearby. Besides, she isn't really dressed the part." He pointed a long finger at the seam of her overalls. "These are men's britches, and crusty ones at that. A rancher could do better."

Nickolas stooped down beside her head and shook her lightly. "Hey! You alright, girl? You need to get up."

Her eyelids fluttered and she squinted, rotating her head slightly to face them.

"What's your name?" Harrison asked her.

She struggled to respond, mumbling incoherently. "Wha…..mm?"

He repeated himself, slowly and purposely.

She whimpered; her vision was blurring. "My…..nn…"

The girl suddenly cringed as she felt a jolt of pain shoot through her spine and up to her brow. She fought to lift her head before she lost control and let it drop to the ground, panting audibly.

"Looks like the shade only did so much good." Harrison said, frowning.

Nickolas wore an expression of melancholy. "Do you think she can last till we get back to the wagon?"

"She has to, if she's gonna live." And with that, Harrison began to steady he hands around each of her ankles. "Grab her other side, would you?"

The boy wasted no time assisting in the hoisting. Once they had lifted her off the ground, they could hear a few words escape from her lips.

"Wind….Walker…"

Harrison and Nickolas paused to listen.

"Grand….dad….smoke….smoke…"

"We'd better get her back to Monroe fast." Harrison commented. "I think she's having a fever dream."

Just as the two had mounted, (the boy with girl in arm), Nickolas turned to the outside grove abruptly.

"What's wrong?"

Nickolas watched the trees carefully, scanning the grove for any signs of movement. "Not sure…"

Silence overtook them for a moment.

Suddenly the trees began shuffling. Brush and tall grasses surrendered to the weight of a charging stallion whose eyes were set on Nickolas. The horse accelerated quickly in an effort to overtake the two riders.

"Son of a-where did that come from?!" The boy shouted, panicked.

"Does it matter? Ride, boy!"

* * *

**There ya'll have it. **

**I'm getting pretty sick of naming all of these chapters. Someone else can name this one for me...**

**Any feedback is good feedback! :D**


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